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Desert Sands

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7. In silence and dread, we are taken down three floors to the cellars for what Barzan had euphemistically referred to as a "little persuasion”. I have no illusions about what that means and wonder how long we will last before we are forced to acquiesce to their demands. Our only hope is that his prediction that our President will call it all off is just bluster, and that we will be rescued with the arrival of Coalition forces in the capital. We must stall for time, I tell myself.

The torture chamber to which we are taken is even worse than I imagined. I gasp, my heart in my throat, as the heavy iron door swings open and I am shoved inside. The brightly lit chamber … its starkly whitewashed walls stained with spattered blood … contains every imaginable instrument of human torture; and standing ready to subject us to whatever horror might be necessary, is a team of four very large and very scary-looking men ... muscular, bare-chested behemoths with thick matted hair on their backs, and cruel-looking faces bearing dark drooping mustaches.

As one, they lunge toward us, and in a matter of seconds Siss and I are stripped of the olive-green flight suits we had worn for the propaganda photo-shoot and strung up by our wrists near the center of the room, our toes barely reaching the floor.

Before us, the iron door to the chamber swings open, and a powerful-looking man, easily over six feet tall and dressed in an expensive dark suit, silk tie, and hand-made Italian shoes, saunters in … a lit cigar clenched in his teeth. Silently he appraises our nakedness, casting his cruel dark eyes up and down the lengths of our straining bodies. The lit end of his cigar glows brightly as he takes us in, circles around, slaps each across the ass with a an open hand, and grunts approvingly at the quivering effect.

"He must be that Uday guy," whispers Siss.

"Yep" is all I can think of to reply.

He comes around front again, stops directly in front of me, grabs me by the chin and forces me to look him in the eye. Then he releases my chin, slowly runs his index finger down my chest between my breasts, over my ribs and across my taut tummy and down to my mound. There he pauses, looks at my face with squinted eyes, and roughly rams his middle finger between my labia. I yelp and buck.

He backs off of with a fiendish grin, and waves a beckoning hand at one of his men, who promptly produces a chair. Uday takes a seat, carefully creases his trousers, nonchalantly inspects his finger nails, pauses again for effect, looks up and nods.

Almost immediately my back is seared by the vicious bite of a whip. A second later Siss screams. The room reverberates with the grunts of our whippers, the crack of leather snapping in the air, and the smack of the lash against our skin. Uday sits calmly in his chair and watches, although small beads of sweat breaking out across his wide forehead and a growing bulge in his trousers betray his arousal.

We scream, twist and writhe under the merciless flogging. The strokes come rapidly, one after another. Our hanging bodies are in constant motion, as the lashes move expertly up and down our backsides, leaving in their wake a succession of crisscrossed red stinging stripes, extending from the top of our shoulders down to our quivering buttocks … the knotted whip ends often wrapping around to punish our breasts and tummies as well, while the occasional underhanded cut spreads the firestorm of pain to our pussies.

Then it stops. Uday rises, and walks off to our left, signaling his men to take us down and follow. They release us from our overhead shackles and drag our limp, pain-racked bodies across the cold flagstones.

We are lifted up and laid out, on our backs, side-by-side atop a pair of heavy long boards, mounted and hinged on a trestle so that they can be tilted up and down like a playground teeter-totter. We are strapped down, leather belts cinched tightly at the ankles, across the thighs, and at the chest, just below our boobs. Our hands are cuffed and laid to rest on our tummies.

Uday stands over me, looking down. Hot ashes float down from the tip of his cigar, to settle on my shoulders and breasts.

He nods to Barzan, who appears over me, and says, “No need to put you and your friend through this Pvt. Moore. Just cooperate, and all will be forgiven. Uday will even throw a party for you at his Palace. Just give the word. That’s all you have to do.”

I stick my tongue out and make a face.

“As you wish,” says Barzan, withdrawing.

Without warning the board I am strapped to is tilted so that my feet rise up in the air and my head is submerged in a tank of cold water. Taken by surprise, I buck and twist helplessly as water floods in through my open mouth. They keep me under. I thrash and squirm. My hair wraps around my head, bubbles float to the surface. I think I am drowning and panic.

Then they tilt me up. My head breaks free of the water, and I gasp for air … water streams from my mouth and nose. Next to me I hear Siss’ panicked cry and then gurgles as they put her under.

As I lie there panting, clamps are snapped onto each of my hardened, erect nipples.

They put me under for a second time. This time I hold my breath, but they switch on the current, shocking me through my nipples, and I open my mouth involuntarily to scream ... water rushes in … and I am put through the panicky sensation of drowning again.

This time they leave me in too long and I nearly pass out before they bring me up. One of them punches me in the stomach with his fist, forcing water out through my nose and mouth, and bringing me about, spluttering and whimpering.

“Ready to cooperate now?” asks Barzan leaning in close to my face. I can hear Siss bucking on her board next to me.”

“You know I can’t”

“Then more drastic measures are necessary.”

The glaring light from the lamps overhead are blotted out by the hulking forms that now lean over me. My head is lifted by the hair, so that I am forced to look down the length of my sweat-sheened, trembling body, past the twin mounds of my nipple-clamped breasts.

While a pair of hammy, hairy hands force my knees apart, I am shown a shiny, unbelievably large, stainless-steel, two-pronged phallus, with electrical wires protruding from one end. As I stare at it wide-eyed, another hand slides under my butt, lifting it off the board, and yet another reaches in to spread my labia.

Something snaps in my mind. I can’t take this any longer.

“No! No! Please! Stop!” I shout, “Please, I’ve changed my mind. I will do it. Please, don’t!”

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Last edited:
Barbaria1 said:
7. In silence and dread, we are taken down three floors to the cellars for what Barzan had euphemistically referred to as a "little persuasion”. I have no illusions about what that means and wonder how long we will last before we are forced to acquiesce to their demands. Our only hope is that his prediction that our President will call it all off is just bluster, and that we will be rescued with the arrival of Coalition forces in the capital. We must stall for time, I tell myself.

The torture chamber to which we are taken is even worse than I imagined. I gasp, my heart in my throat, as the heavy iron door swings open and I am shoved inside. The brightly lit chamber … its starkly whitewashed walls stained with spattered blood … contains every imaginable instrument of human torture; and standing ready to subject us to whatever horror might be necessary, is a team of four very large and very scary-looking men ... muscular, bare-chested behemoths with thick matted hair on their backs, and cruel-looking faces bearing dark drooping mustaches.

As one, they lunge toward us, and in a matter of seconds Siss and I are stripped of the olive-green flight suits we had worn for the propaganda photo-shoot and strung up by our wrists near the center of the room, our toes barely reaching the floor.

Before us, the iron door to the chamber swings open, and a powerful-looking man, easily over six feet tall and dressed in an expensive dark suit, silk tie, and hand-made Italian shoes, saunters in … a lit cigar clenched in his teeth. Silently he appraises our nakedness, casting his cruel dark eyes up and down the lengths of our straining bodies. The lit end of his cigar glows brightly as he takes us in, circles around, slaps each across the ass with a an open hand, and grunts approvingly at the quivering effect.

"He must be that Uday guy," whispers Siss.

"Yep" is all I can think of to reply.

He comes around front again, stops directly in front of me, grabs me by the chin and forces me to look him in the eye. Then he releases my chin, slowly runs his index finger down my chest between my breasts, over my ribs and across my taut tummy and down to my mound. There he pauses, looks at my face with squinted eyes, and roughly rams his middle finger between my labia. I yelp and buck.

He backs off of with a fiendish grin, and waves a beckoning hand at one of his men, who promptly produces a chair. Uday takes a seat, carefully creases his trousers, nonchalantly inspects his finger nails, pauses again for effect, looks up and nods.

Almost immediately my back is seared by the vicious bite of a whip. A second later Siss screams. The room reverberates with the grunts of our whippers, the crack of leather snapping in the air, and the smack of the lash against our skin. Uday sits calmly in his chair and watches, although small beads of sweat breaking out across his wide forehead and a growing bulge in his trousers betray his arousal.

We scream, twist and writhe under the merciless flogging. The strokes come rapidly, one after another. Our hanging bodies are in constant motion, as the lashes move expertly up and down our backsides, leaving in their wake a succession of crisscrossed red stinging stripes, extending from the top of our shoulders down to our quivering buttocks … the knotted whip ends often wrapping around to punish our breasts and tummies as well, while the occasional underhanded cut spreads the firestorm of pain to our pussies.

Then it stops. Uday rises, and walks off to our left, signaling his men to take us down and follow. They release us from our overhead shackles and drag our limp, pain-racked bodies across the cold flagstones.

We are lifted up and laid out, on our backs, side-by-side atop a pair of heavy long boards, mounted and hinged on a trestle so that they can be tilted up and down like a playground teeter-totter. We are strapped down, leather belts cinched tightly at the ankles, across the thighs, and at the chest, just below our boobs. Our hands are cuffed and laid to rest on our tummies.

Uday stands over me, looking down. Hot ashes float down from the tip of his cigar, to settle on my shoulders and breasts.

He nods to Barzan, who appears over me, and says, “No need to put you and your friend through this Pvt. Moore. Just cooperate, and all will be forgiven. Uday will even throw a party for you at his Palace. Just give the word. That’s all you have to do.”

I stick my tongue out and make a face.

“As you wish,” says Barzan, withdrawing.

Without warning the board I am strapped to is tilted so that my feet rise up in the air and my head is submerged in a tank of cold water. Taken by surprise, I buck and twist helplessly as water floods in through my open mouth. They keep me under. I thrash and squirm. My hair wraps around my head, bubbles float to the surface. I think I am drowning and panic.

Then they tilt me up. My head breaks free of the water, and I gasp for air … water streams from my mouth and nose. Next to me I hear Siss’ panicked cry and then gurgles as they put her under.

As I lie there panting, clamps are snapped onto each of my hardened, erect nipples.

They put me under for a second time. This time I hold my breath, but they switch on the current, shocking me through my nipples, and I open my mouth involuntarily to scream ... water rushes in … and I am put through the panicky sensation of drowning again.

This time they leave me in too long and I nearly pass out before they bring me up. One of them punches me in the stomach with his fist, forcing water out through my nose and mouth, and bringing me about, spluttering and whimpering.

“Ready to cooperate now?” asks Barzan leaning in close to my face. I can hear Siss bucking on her board next to me.”

“You know I can’t”

“Then more drastic measures are necessary.”

The glaring light from the lamps overhead are blotted out by the hulking forms that now lean over me. My head is lifted by the hair, so that I am forced to look down the length of my sweat-sheened, trembling body, past the twin mounds of my nipple-clamped breasts.

While a pair of hammy, hairy hands force my knees apart, I am shown a shiny, unbelievably large, stainless-steel, two-pronged phallus, with electrical wires protruding from one end. As I stare at it wide-eyed, another hand slides under my butt, lifting it off the board, and yet another reaches in to spread my labia.

Something snaps in my mind. I can’t take this any longer.

“No! No! Please! Stop!” I shout, “Please, I’ve changed my mind. I will do it. Please, don’t!”

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...
WOW!
 
Barbaria1 said:
7. In silence and dread, we are taken down three floors to the cellars for what Barzan had euphemistically referred to as a "little persuasion”. I have no illusions about what that means and wonder how long we will last before we are forced to acquiesce to their demands. Our only hope is that his prediction that our President will call it all off is just bluster, and that we will be rescued with the arrival of Coalition forces in the capital. We must stall for time, I tell myself.

The torture chamber to which we are taken is even worse than I imagined. I gasp, my heart in my throat, as the heavy iron door swings open and I am shoved inside. The brightly lit chamber … its starkly whitewashed walls stained with spattered blood … contains every imaginable instrument of human torture; and standing ready to subject us to whatever horror might be necessary, is a team of four very large and very scary-looking men ... muscular, bare-chested behemoths with thick matted hair on their backs, and cruel-looking faces bearing dark drooping mustaches.

As one, they lunge toward us, and in a matter of seconds Siss and I are stripped of the olive-green flight suits we had worn for the propaganda photo-shoot and strung up by our wrists near the center of the room, our toes barely reaching the floor.

Before us, the iron door to the chamber swings open, and a powerful-looking man, easily over six feet tall and dressed in an expensive dark suit, silk tie, and hand-made Italian shoes, saunters in … a lit cigar clenched in his teeth. Silently he appraises our nakedness, casting his cruel dark eyes up and down the lengths of our straining bodies. The lit end of his cigar glows brightly as he takes us in, circles around, slaps each across the ass with a an open hand, and grunts approvingly at the quivering effect.

"He must be that Uday guy," whispers Siss.

"Yep" is all I can think of to reply.

He comes around front again, stops directly in front of me, grabs me by the chin and forces me to look him in the eye. Then he releases my chin, slowly runs his index finger down my chest between my breasts, over my ribs and across my taut tummy and down to my mound. There he pauses, looks at my face with squinted eyes, and roughly rams his middle finger between my labia. I yelp and buck.

He backs off of with a fiendish grin, and waves a beckoning hand at one of his men, who promptly produces a chair. Uday takes a seat, carefully creases his trousers, nonchalantly inspects his finger nails, pauses again for effect, looks up and nods.

Almost immediately my back is seared by the vicious bite of a whip. A second later Siss screams. The room reverberates with the grunts of our whippers, the crack of leather snapping in the air, and the smack of the lash against our skin. Uday sits calmly in his chair and watches, although small beads of sweat breaking out across his wide forehead and a growing bulge in his trousers betray his arousal.

We scream, twist and writhe under the merciless flogging. The strokes come rapidly, one after another. Our hanging bodies are in constant motion, as the lashes move expertly up and down our backsides, leaving in their wake a succession of crisscrossed red stinging stripes, extending from the top of our shoulders down to our quivering buttocks … the knotted whip ends often wrapping around to punish our breasts and tummies as well, while the occasional underhanded cut spreads the firestorm of pain to our pussies.

Then it stops. Uday rises, and walks off to our left, signaling his men to take us down and follow. They release us from our overhead shackles and drag our limp, pain-racked bodies across the cold flagstones.

We are lifted up and laid out, on our backs, side-by-side atop a pair of heavy long boards, mounted and hinged on a trestle so that they can be tilted up and down like a playground teeter-totter. We are strapped down, leather belts cinched tightly at the ankles, across the thighs, and at the chest, just below our boobs. Our hands are cuffed and laid to rest on our tummies.

Uday stands over me, looking down. Hot ashes float down from the tip of his cigar, to settle on my shoulders and breasts.

He nods to Barzan, who appears over me, and says, “No need to put you and your friend through this Pvt. Moore. Just cooperate, and all will be forgiven. Uday will even throw a party for you at his Palace. Just give the word. That’s all you have to do.”

I stick my tongue out and make a face.

“As you wish,” says Barzan, withdrawing.

Without warning the board I am strapped to is tilted so that my feet rise up in the air and my head is submerged in a tank of cold water. Taken by surprise, I buck and twist helplessly as water floods in through my open mouth. They keep me under. I thrash and squirm. My hair wraps around my head, bubbles float to the surface. I think I am drowning and panic.

Then they tilt me up. My head breaks free of the water, and I gasp for air … water streams from my mouth and nose. Next to me I hear Siss’ panicked cry and then gurgles as they put her under.

As I lie there panting, clamps are snapped onto each of my hardened, erect nipples.

They put me under for a second time. This time I hold my breath, but they switch on the current, shocking me through my nipples, and I open my mouth involuntarily to scream ... water rushes in … and I am put through the panicky sensation of drowning again.

This time they leave me in too long and I nearly pass out before they bring me up. One of them punches me in the stomach with his fist, forcing water out through my nose and mouth, and bringing me about, spluttering and whimpering.

“Ready to cooperate now?” asks Barzan leaning in close to my face. I can hear Siss bucking on her board next to me.”

“You know I can’t”

“Then more drastic measures are necessary.”

The glaring light from the lamps overhead are blotted out by the hulking forms that now lean over me. My head is lifted by the hair, so that I am forced to look down the length of my sweat-sheened, trembling body, past the twin mounds of my nipple-clamped breasts.

While a pair of hammy, hairy hands force my knees apart, I am shown a shiny, unbelievably large, stainless-steel, two-pronged phallus, with electrical wires protruding from one end. As I stare at it wide-eyed, another hand slides under my butt, lifting it off the board, and yet another reaches in to spread my labia.

Something snaps in my mind. I can’t take this any longer.

“No! No! Please! Stop!” I shout, “Please, I’ve changed my mind. I will do it. Please, don’t!”

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...


Didn't anyone ever tell Uday that you really shouldn't play with electricity near water? :rolleyes:

Oh, and by the way...

:mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad::mad:

He's shot straight up to 11 on the Wragg Loathometer!
 
Barbaria1 said:
Sharing a little research here ... according to an article in the Guardian ...

Of Saddam's two sons, Uday was the flamboyant one - towering well over 6ft, with a penchant for fast cars and loud and drunken parties, expensive suits and flowing robes, as well as murder, rape and torture. Uday's excesses carried over in his private life where he had a reputation for ordering any girl or woman who caught his eye to be brought to his private pleasure dome. The palace, a bad taste Arabian nights fantasy, was decorated with indoor fountains and erotic murals and was in the grounds of his father's presidential estate. He is also reported to have operated an even more private torture chamber on the banks of the Tigris.
Click to expand...
Sounds like a guy that knows how to appreciate life!

cooper-devils-double.jpg
 
Once more, a good episode!:)

Barbaria1 said:
Before us, the iron door to the chamber swings open, and a powerful-looking man, easily over six feet tall and dressed in an expensive dark suit, silk tie, and hand-made Italian shoes, saunters in … a lit cigar clenched in his teeth.
Click to expand...
It could be the description of a maffia capo either.

But after all, what is the definition of a state? In some parts of the world : a maffia family with a regular army!:mad::mad:

Wragg134 said:
Didn't anyone ever tell Uday that you really shouldn't play with electricity near water? :rolleyes:
Click to expand...

Would Uday bother the risk? He gives the orders, the others do the job.
They just have to take care the water does not splash over his expensive suit, or over his hand-made Italian shoes, or worse, extinghuishes his cigar.:devil:
 
Loxuru said:
Would Uday bother the risk? He gives the orders, the others do the job.
They just have to take care the water does not splash over his expensive suit, or over his hand-made Italian shoes, or worse, extinghuishes his cigar.:devil:
Click to expand...

f41900e7c523aa57dd7e029fa08397fe.jpg Fastidiousness is one of his his only good trait. ;)
 
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